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Thomas CAMPBELL, a Scotch poet belonging to the literary circle of Sir Walter Scott, became famous at the age of twentyone by his didactic poem, The Pleasures of Hope. He wrote several other long poems, – one of them, Gertrude of Wyoming, on the massacre which took place at the Pennsylvania village of that name during the Revolutionary War. He is best known, however, as the author of three of the most stirring war-songs in the English language. Hohenlinden is found in nearly every reader or book of declamations; the other two, here printed, are perhaps even finer.


YE Mariners of England,
That guard our native seas,
Whose flag has braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze,
Your glorious standard launch again 5
To match another foe,
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow !
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow. io

The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave,
For the deck it was their field of fame,

And Ocean was their grave.

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow !
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep:
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak
She quells the floods below,
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow !
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn,
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors,
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow !
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

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OF Nelson and the North
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone; 5
By each gun the lighted brand
In a bold determined hand,
And the Prince of all the land

Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat io
Lay their bulwarks on the brine,
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:
It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path, 15
There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath,

For a time.

But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene, zo
And her van the fleeter rushed
O'er the deadly space between —
“Hearts of oak,’ our captains cried, when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships, 25
Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun.

Again again again!
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane 30

To our cheering sent us back; —
Their shots along the deep slowly boom: —
Then ceased — and all is wail,
As they strike the shattered sail,
Or in conflagration pale

Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then,
As he hailed them o'er the wave;
‘Ye are brothers : ye are men
And we conquer but to save;
So peace instead of death let us bring:
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet
With the crews at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our King.’

Then Denmark blest our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief,
From her people wildly rose,
As death withdrew his shades from the day;
While the sun looked smiling bright
O'er a wide and woeful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light

Died away.

Now joy, old England, raise
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,
While the wine cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,

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Brave hearts 1 to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true, 65
On the deck of fame that died, -
With the gallant good Riou,
Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their gravel
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles, 7c
Singing glory to the souls

Of the bravel

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